


had me in the palm of your hand

by besully (Briar_Elwood)



Series: Quite Like That [2]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Asexual Character, M/M, previous SilverMuldoon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-07 03:52:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17953088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Briar_Elwood/pseuds/besully
Summary: “You and Muldoon--you’d grown close.”John looks up with a start as Flint walks up to him. John’s cleaning his stump--it’s been itching something fierce since the doldrums--and Flint’s… well, he should be getting ready to set out for Vane and the fleet. John glares back down at his stump, trying not to irritate it with the cloth he’s using. God, it itches. And hurts.“And?” he says.





	had me in the palm of your hand

“You and Muldoon--you’d grown close.”

John looks up with a start as Flint walks up to him. John’s cleaning his stump--it’s been itching something fierce since the doldrums--and Flint’s… well, he should be getting ready to set out for Vane and the fleet. John glares back down at his stump, trying not to irritate it with the cloth he’s using. God, it itches. And hurts.

“And?” he says. Flint’s the last person he wants to talk to about Muldoon, even despite the progress the two of them have made in the past few days. Flint pauses and then sits next to John.

“I heard you’d grown… rather close.”

John grits back an annoyed sigh. “We weren’t fucking, if that’s what you’re asking. Not that you have any right to know anymore.”

“What does that mean?”

John throws the cloth into the bucket and water splashes on his pant leg. He growls--that’ll never dry here in the jungle--and turns his glare on Flint. “It means you dropped me like I was fucking diseased so my private affairs are no longer your concern.”

Flint looks alarmed. “I… dropped you?”

“I understood not fucking when Mrs. Barlow was on board, and I might’ve even understood not fucking because you didn’t want to make my leg worse,” John spits, “but it wasn’t just the fucking. It was that you stopped giving two shits about me. It was that I was like a fucking rock in your boot. It was that you, how did you put it? You thought I was trying to ‘worm my way into your head’. I was just trying to do my fucking job!”

Flint stares at him, wide-eyed, for a few brief moments. “I was…” He stops, looking down. “You…” He stops again, trying once more. “Mrs. Barlow… Her death…”

“Nearly killed you,” John supplies. “More than once. Yeah, I’m keenly aware of that fact. I was trying to save you, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Flint is quiet for a moment. “I didn’t want to be saved.”

“Yeah. I noticed.”

It goes quiet again, and John leans forward to try and fish the cloth back from where it had sunk to the bottom of the bucket. Flint slides off his seat and kneels in front of John, grabbing the cloth and handing it to him.

“I’m blind, aren’t I?” he says softly. John frowns at him for a second before taking the cloth and resuming the cleaning.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’ve been blinded by everything--the Urca gold, Mrs. Barlow’s death, the war--and I never noticed you standing in front of me.”

John snorts. “You’re a very singular-minded man.”

Flint looks up at him, expression joltingly open. John can’t look away.

“I didn’t used to be,” Flint says. “I used to be able to have a purpose and also give the love people deserved. I don’t know--... Actually, I do know when that changed.”

John continues to stare at him, transfixed by the transformation he seems to be witnessing. Christ, the captain even looks younger, somehow. Not all hard, jagged edges like he’s always, always been. There was a hurt there, a hurt far older than Mrs. Barlow’s death, and John had seen it months ago. But now, it seems Flint was looking past that old hurt.

“You’re more than what you’ve lost,” John says after a long pause. “You’re more than the gold, the war, the captaincy. You’re a good man. And I just wanted to help you realize it.”

“I’m sorry,” Flint says, a touch of determination in his voice. “I can…” Flint looks down, pointedly, at John’s crotch. John clenches his teeth.

“I don’t wanna fuck.”

Flint looks back up, blinking. “Okay.”

John frowns at him in surprise, but Flint’s expression doesn’t change. He stays on his knees in front of John, like he’s waiting for John to do something. What, John has no idea. Slowly he sets the wet cloth on the seat beside him and reaches for the boot. He has absolutely no desire to put it on in front of Flint, but John was limited with what he could actually do without it. Focusing all his attention on the boot, John bites his lip and shoves it back on. Only a small whimper escapes. Attention still on his leg and only his leg, John rolls down his pant leg before pushing himself up to a standing position.

Slowly, almost carefully, Flint follows, eyes fixed on John in a way that severely increases the itch on his stump. But he’s so curious to understand what’s going on in Flint’s head. Flint takes a step closer, hand raising to brush John’s hair behind his shoulder. He holds the back of John’s head and takes a final step forward so their bodies are flush. John forces himself to relax, unable to help himself from glancing at Flint’s beautifully pink lips. Before he can look away, Flint turns John’s head up and swallows the noise of surprise from John’s mouth. Flint’s other hand tangles in John’s hair, and John moans lowly, losing himself in sensation. Flint’s tender yet fierce pursuit of mapping out John’s mouth with his tongue, his soft lips on his, their beards scratching against each other. The gentle yet desperate touch of Flint’s hands cradling John’s hand, hot skin on hot skin, blunt nails scraping against skin.

No one’s ever kissed John quite like that.


End file.
